Cushioned in a Holy Light
by KatiKat
Summary: Sam refused to go with Dean when he came for him in the Pilot and their lives went in a different direction. Gen.


**Cushioned in a Holy Light**

by KatiKat

_Disclaimer: The characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW. _

The church is empty but for one person. The man is sitting in the second pew on the left, his black garb and white collar marking him as a priest. He sits there with his head lowered and eyes closed. His hands are clasped, elbows resting on the back of the pew in front, his forehead touching his entwined fingers. His lips are moving, mouthing silently the words of a prayer.

_Pater noster, qui es in coelis _

_Sanctificetur nomen tuum..._

It's summer, early evening, the priest's duty done for the day. The sun is slowly sinking behind the horizon, its orange glow lighting up the stained windows, bathing the paintings of the saints on the otherwise whitewashed walls in bright colors. There are candles burning on a small stand a little bit to the right of the altar battling for dominance with the deepening twilight.

The church is silent, its stone floor, thick walls and intricately carved pews magnificent. The heavy door is open, letting in the warm evening breeze and the quiet sounds of life in the distance.

Suddenly, there is a sound on the stone steps leading up to the church. Someone walks in, slowly, as if afraid or unsure, and stops right behind the doors. The priest doesn't raise his head at first. He wants to finish his prayer and whoever his visitor is, they obviously need a moment to decide if they want to come in or leave. The church is open to everyone but they must enter of their own free will.

The priest whispers his _Amen_ at the same moment his visitor speaks: "Father Michael?"

The voice steals the breath from the priest's lungs and his fingers grow cold in a matter of seconds. He can't move and he is glad that he is sitting down because he is sure that his knees would have given way on him in that moment.

The person, the man starts walking, at first a little unsure, then with growing confidence. "Father Michael?" he says again, then... "Dean?"

The priest, Father Michael or Dean as people used to know him, shudders, as if the sound of his former name broke the paralysis that held him in the pew. He stands up, turning slightly to the right, clutching the carved back of the pew in front of him in his left hand. He looks at the man approaching him, at the tall form in jeans and a t-shirt, expensive but comfortably worn.

Dean smiles. "Hey, Sam."

Sam doesn't stop until he is right there, in front of Dean. He grabs Dean and pulls him quickly into his arms. The hug is tight and full of love and desperation, of years lost and happiness found. And Dean remembers it all again, what it was like, all those years ago. He lifts his arms and returns the embrace.

Then Sam pushes him away and holding him at arm's length he looks Dean in the face searchingly, drinking in the sight of his big brother. Dean opens his mouth to say something, anything because he feels terribly awkward never having been comfortable with being the center of attention. But before he can say one word, Sam shakes him so hard that Dean's teeth rattle.

"Where the hell-"

Dean scowls. "Sam! We're in a house of God!"

"-have you been all these years?" Sam shouts, heedless of Dean's admonition. "You promised to call me when you found Dad. And then you simply dropped off the face of Earth. I contacted everybody I could think of, left messages and letters in all the post boxes we used. I thought you had died!" His voice grows thick with restrained tears, then it breaks at the end and Dean feels Sam's grip on his shoulders tighten.

Dean raises a hand to touch his brother's hand. "Sam..."

Sam shakes his head violently, then shouts. "And then! After my graduation... when I returned home with Jess and found the Impala sitting in the parking lot... I really thought that you'd come back, that you'd returned." He laughs, though his laughter sounds bitter. "I don't know how long I stood there by the car trying to decide if I want to hug you or kick your ass."

"Sammy! The church...!"

Sam shoves Dean hard. "To hell with your church! Do you know how much it hurt me when I found only the keys and a frickin' card on the table? I was so happy that you were alive and then you disappear again without a word, leaving the Impala behind like some frickin' graduation gift? Why Dean? Just tell me why?" He sounds desperate, desperate for answers, for the time they had lost.

Dean sighs and leaning against the pew, he crosses his arms on his chest. "I shouldn't have come back then. But I couldn't let you think that no one in your family cared that you'd graduated. And as the best in your class too, you geek!" Dean smirks and even the corners of Sam's mouth curve upwards. "But I shouldn't have come. I still wasn't alright and the abbot ordered me not to leave the monastery. He was convinced that I needed time alone to pull myself together. He was right of course," Dean said, smiling softly, remembering the good old abbot with a shock of white hair and smiling gentle eyes. "But I was lucky. Brother Thomas was a forgiving man. Ten Ave Marias and a CD with the latest hits of Metallica saved me."

At that Sam has to laugh, imagining Dean converting peaceful brothers into mullet rock groupies.

Then Dean grows serious again and he looks his brother directly in the eyes. Sam looks older, stronger and Dean realizes that his little brother is not little anymore but a real grown-up man. He sighs again and shakes his head. "I wasn't ready to meet you yet, Sam. I was... still all over the place, a nervous wreck. It was... really bad." He lowers his head, still not comfortable talking about the past. With slight amusement he notices that obviously, his brother still prefers sneakers. The dork!

Sam shuffles his feet nervously and steps a little closer but when Dean freezes, he realizes that his brother needs some space so he gives it to him, not crowding him. "Dean, please, tell me what happened," he asks softly, the desperate undertone still present in his voice. When Dean starts shaking his head, he adds even more desperately. "I need to know, Dean. All these years, I've wondered... Please, Dean."

Dean looks up at his brother's pleading expression and remembers the times when he couldn't refuse his brother anything. Obviously, these times are not over yet. He sighs again, then stands up and slowly walks over to the small stand with the burning candles. He starts extinguishing them with his fingers, preparing the church for the night.

"After you refused to come with me when I came for you at Stanford that night, I picked up Dad's trail," he starts speaking, his voice so soft that Sam has to step closer to hear him. His shuffling steps echo impossibly loud in the quiet church. "I got rid of the woman in white that he was investigating at the time of his disappearance, then I followed the coordinates he left me in his journal. They led me to Blackwater Ridge." His hands start to shake, just like his voice and he has to clear his throat a couple of times. Even now, after all these years, his throat closes in panic whenever he thinks of that awful place. "There was a Wendigo hiding there, in the woods, terrorizing the town and the hitchhikers. I went in with some people who were searching for a relative of theirs and a guide..." He falls silent. The candles are snuffed, so he lets his hands fall to his sides where they twitch nervously. "I was the only one who survived. The Wendigo... it tore them apart. I was bound so I could only watch as it gnawed on them while they still breathed..."

Sam sucks in a sharp breath but keeps silent as if knowing that if he interrupted Dean now, his brother would never finish his tale. Not ever.

Dean keeps his back to his brother, his eyes on the melted wax of the plain white candles. "I don't remember how I got out, which is a blessing I guess. I don't even remember how I got myself to Pastor Jim. And I don't remember much from the months that followed either. Pastor Jim said that I broke down completely. Fortunately, he knew a guy, a psychiatrist, who was in on the whole hunter-business. They managed to somehow glue me back together. Physically and mentally. When I was a little better, he sent me off to Brother Thomas in the North and I can't thank him enough for that. Brother Thomas was a medic in Vietnam, he had seen a lot cases of PTSD back then. He knew exactly what I needed and he gave it to me. And it was a good thing because I was this close to putting a bullet in my brain."

There is another horrified gasp and for a moment, Dean regrets telling this much but he knows that it was now or never. If he doesn't tell Sam now, he will keep quiet forever.

Silence stretches between the brothers and the church is slowly growing dark around them, the sun having disappeared behind the horizon.

It's Sam who speaks first, his words hesitant. "But why the priesthood, Dean? Nobody hated organized religion more than you," Sam reminds him with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Dean smiles and turns to his brother because this is a safe thing to talk about face to face, a happy thing to share. "Brother Thomas showed me that you can help people without ever shooting a gun, without killing." He shudders at the thought of ever touching a gun of any sort again, of ever seeing, going through what he barely survived out there, in the woods. He lifts his hand and touches his collar tentatively. "I... I'm really happy now, Sam, with my life and with what I'm doing here for the people. I do good here," he admits earnestly.

Sam looks at him for the longest time, then reaches out and squeezes his brother's shoulder. "You do look happy, Dean," Sam agrees and it really is the truth. For the first time since Sam can remember, Dean looks... whole, as if some lost piece of him finally found its way back and fell into place. "But even though you left the game, you're still pretty good at hiding," Sam teases and shoves his brother in the shoulder affectionately.

Dean laughs and motions to Sam to accompany him to the main door that still stands open, leading outside into the warm summer evening. "Obviously not good enough since you found me."

There is a secretive smile on Sam's lips, though the look in his eyes is... unsure? Nervous? "Well, I did have some help," he admits as they reach the open door.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Who..."

Sam raises a hand and points. Dean looks down the stone steps that lead from the white-washed church that stands on a grassy hill to the road. There is a car parked at the sidewalk, its polished black hood gleaming in the light of the street lamps. With a flicker of pleasure, Dean recognizes the Impala. But then he freezes because there is a man leaning against the passenger door. Tall and heavy, he has his hands stuck in the pockets of his forest green jacket, shoulders hunched anxiously, an expression of uncertainty on his stubbled face. His once dark hair is now all salt and pepper and there are more lines around his eyes than there used to be but Dean still recognizes him immediately.

Dean pales, his eyes widening. "Dad..." he whispers, his voice breaking, throat tightening and threatening to choke him. He can't believe it. He was so sure that his father was dead.

As if hearing Dean, John raises his hand and waves, his whole behavior so unsure, so unlike the self-confidence from years before. He doesn't move, as if afraid of spooking his son, for once in their lives leaving the decision of what to do next to his son. And Dean stands there, breathing hard, fists clenched at his sides.

Sam shuffles his feet again. "He came to me a couple of months ago. I've been looking for you and him for years and suddenly, he was just standing there, asking about me and Jess... and you. He..." Sam pauses, takes a deep breath and shrugs. "He is sorry, Dean. He thought it would work out differently." Sam falls silent, a concerned expression on his face for his brother still doesn't move, doesn't say anything. Frowning, Sam touches Dean's shoulder gently. "Dean, we are not forcing you to... If you don't want him here..." His voice falters. "If you don't want us here..."

Dean catches Sam's hand before his brother can move it away from his shoulder. "No!" Dean's tone is harsh. "No. I do. Want you here, that is. Both of you. I just..." He shakes his head.

Sam smiles and squeezes his shoulder. "I understand." Then he laughs out loud. "When I found him on my doorstep, I clocked him one. So I really do understand."

Relaxing slightly, Dean chuckles. "Yeah. It's not that I'm not happy to see you... him..."

Sam raises both hands. "Too much at once, got it." And before Dean can say anything else, he continues. "We will do whatever you want, Dean. It's up to you." Obviously it was the right thing to say because the tension leaves Dean's shoulders, his stance once again relaxed. "We left our things in the motel down the street," Sam says, waving a hand towards the town's flickering lights and snickers, "just in the case you kicked us out. I took some time off from work and dad has nowhere to be anyway. And Jess told me that she would have my ass should I come back without straightening the things between us so we have all the time we... you need, bro. There's no need to rush." He squeezes Dean's arm again as if unwillling to lose physical contact with his brother now that he found him again.

Dean doesn't know what to say because he has never been good with words. But Sam was always good with filling the awkward, emotionally charged pauses.

Suddenly full of energy, Sam rubs his hands. "So what about dinner? Neutral ground? We could talk..."

Smiling, Dean shakes his head. "You're still such a girl, Sammy," he says fondly and slaps his brother on the shoulder. Sam beams at him. There is a gentle, almost happy expression on Dean's face as he concedes, nodding, his gaze roaming from his father to his brother, trying to take everything in at once. "Dinner would be great. It's a start."

The End


End file.
